


Bend of the River

by CorsetJinx



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 20:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7004389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsetJinx/pseuds/CorsetJinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A job's a job and once it's done they have a bit of time to call their own. Sometimes. Cis uses it to gather information and pay respects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bend of the River

**Author's Note:**

> An introduction to Cis, the “big brother” of the Whaler Bunch.

It is quiet enough on the rooftop that when the rattle of the job’s pay sounds from within the pouch at her side drags her thought back, back to the time before she’d donned the leathers of her current profession. Back to Pottershead and the collection of cramped farms and deceptively lulling hills she’d once thought went on forever.

The coin hadn’t sounded nearly so loud back then as it changed hands from the man she’d followed into Dunwall to the Madame of the Cat. She’d stared between the man tipping his hat and the woman whose bodice had slipped revealingly low, knowledge that it wasn’t factory work she’d been offered after all sitting heavy and sick in her gut.

After that her memory degraded into a whirl of impressions – the Madame’s perfume and the vivacity affected by the Golden Cat when the light was just right, hands of various people touching her, examining her. The Madame had hoped for a prettier girl, one that didn’t have such broad shoulders or a square jaw at the age of fourteen. It hadn’t mattered in the end. She’d been bought and paid for, punished when she tried to run away, put to work in the kitchen or in the hard labor of the brothel if she wasn’t entertaining a ‘gentleman’.

She’d stayed for as long as she had to watch over the younger girls, in the end. The ones that didn’t try to run and shrank when a man raised his hand towards them.

Not entirely different from what she did now, she supposed – releasing the thought as the tell-tale _‘fwip’_ of a transversal emerged from less than five feet away. Turning her head towards the new arrival, Cis inclined her head towards Jordan, the lenses of their masks catching light from the glowing lamps down below as the gesture was returned.

“Here to relieve you, big brother.” He sounded affable enough from beneath his mask, the shift of his shoulders conveying amusement when she cocked her head at him. His arms remained folded behind his back, lighter gray of his uniform blending well with the rain-soaked stone around them.

“What’s that all about?” She pitched her voice low, mimicking the baritone cadence of a man whose name she’d long forgotten. It had served her well often enough since she had joined Daud, and the length and broadness of her body better suited to that of a man anyway.

Jordan’s shoulder lifted by an inch before settling back. “Aren’t you the one that’s called Cis? Heard from some of the others that you’re the one more likely to make sure we’re not shooting ourselves in the foot when Rulfio or Rinaldo can’t manage it.”

“So you call me big brother?” Unbidden, Cis felt a corner of her mouth quirk beneath her mask. Standing to her full height she drained the humor from her voice. “Remember that Milgreaves is a watch only. Daud hasn’t given the order to do anything more.”

Jordan seemed to take the hint, standing a little taller himself. He spoke in a quieter, more serious tone, “I know he’s suspected of helping embezzle funds from the Pendletons. Was there anything else?”

“He takes walks around his estate in the late morning, always accompanied by two guards. He doesn’t carry a pistol or a sword himself.” Cis pointed towards the east wing of the three story across from them, the iron wrought fence an acceptable barrier against foot traffic but little else. “After two he goes to see his mistress. You’re not to engage her.”

“Every day, same time?” Jordan’s shoulders shook a little at that, only for a moment before he settled back to business. “Understood.”

Cis left him on the rooftop, blinking several houses away before stopping to get her bearings. The rain continued to patter down, making secure footing slick and the lenses of her mask be decorated with tiny drops. A two man patrol of the City Watch passed her by without looking up, their dark figures only slightly hunched against the weather.

She paid them little mind, climbing up the length of pipe extending from the apartments she’d stopped at and blinking the next two streets over. The blockade of Holger’s Square stretched out before her, yet there was no Overseer or wolfhound stationed by the gate. Whether from a lack of able bodies, which was doubtful, or arrogance, they may as well have left the door wide open.

Providing, of course, there was no unpleasant surprise for one that barged through on the other side.

Clearing the rough steel blockade with another blink, Cis picked her way across the street via rooftop. Some part of her mind ticked off the apartments that now stood empty, windows left open or smashed in, the scent of rot that sometimes emerged strongly enough to be caught through the filters of her mask. Peering into one such space confirmed what she’d already suspected – bare mattresses tossed into random corners of the room, far from the gathered corpses wrapped in thick, previously white cloth.

The building would be cleared out by the end of the week, if the remaining tenants were lucky.

Turning away from the scene, she climbed her way over to the eastern end of the rooftops that stopped before they hit the wall separating the districts. All the Golden Cat lay before her, whitewashed stone dirtied by grime and the elements currently gleaming in some places thanks to the rain. It didn’t look any different from then, Cis noted. The small garden the Madame, previous and current, kept to delight the more highborn guests was closed off. It would likely remain so until the rain stopped or it dried out.

She crouched, mask turned towards the door that could be opened up from the lowest floor, and waited.

It didn’t take very long for a woman to emerge, shivering in the chill of the air. She looked around, one hand still on the handle of the door, and did a double-take before leaving the relative safety of one of the brothel’s lesser used doors. The brunette folded her arms around herself for warmth as she slowly walked directly under the roof Cis was waiting on, a thin scrap of purple cloth tied around her neck.

She blinked down to street level once the woman passed beneath the stone archway set apart from the low wall that would allow people to look out over the shores of the Wrenhaven, taking the lightly shivering woman by the shoulder and guiding her further down the path. The brunette jumped, a stifled noise of panic slipping out of her mouth as they walked.

“Relax.” Sweeping the area with Dark Vision to confirm that they were alone, Cis gently released the shorter woman and turned to face her. “I didn’t come to cause you trouble.”

Some of the fear left the woman’s eyes, but not all. She was more obvious in looking around, particularly back the way she’d come. Satisfied, she rubbed her arms and raised her eyes to the lenses in Cis’ mask. Faint trails of makeup remained on her skin, as though she’d been crying at some point and tried to rub the tear tracks away. Cis couldn’t see any bruises but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

An old part of her twinges with the reminder.

“You’re Dahlia’s friend then?” Dark brown eyes raked over the leathers of Cis’ uniform, the sword at her side and paused there.

“I am.” Softening her voice to its natural timbre, Cis reached into one of the pockets of her coat and offered the shorter woman the glass cylinder she withdrew. Red liquid gently sloshed within, the brass fittings on the tube catching the weak light. She watched the woman eye it, fear momentarily forgotten.

“Your crew must be well-off to have the real stuff.” A hint of wry humor touched the woman’s expression, easing the lines of stress from her face a little more. She stood a little straighter, no longer shivering quite so much despite the chill and the thinness of her day gown. “You wanted to know about the Bottle Street boys, right?”

“Anything you are able to share.” Cis replied, tilting the cylinder in the woman’s direction.

She took it, quickly tucking it under her arm as though she expected it to be stolen from her. Lifting a hand she brushed her short dark hair from her face, skin around her eyes tightening as she thought. “Slackjaw upped his price for the bootleg elixir, but it’s only by twenty coin. The Madame raised a fuss about it but we all know she’ll pay.”

The hand that had tucked errant strands of brown away now rubbed at a spot over her shoulder, massaging the area there.

“She hasn’t much choice.” Cis supplied patiently, voice soft. It echoed as it left her mask, but not terribly so. “Not if she wishes for the Cat to remain open.”

A light scoff drifted in the air between them, the brunette’s lips curving up in a mirthless smile. “Of course. She’ll find the coin even if it means stretching us thin, not that we aren’t already.” Resentment surfaced beneath the smile and Cis inclined her head in understanding. The shorter woman seemed to take that as her cue to continue and she did, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. “The Pendletons haven’t withdrawn their support yet, but the Madame is trying to come up with ways to keep them from growing bored. It’s bad enough with Campbell taking as many girls as he likes whenever he feels like it.”

Another shiver wracked the smaller woman’s frame, not entirely due to the cold. In a hushed tone she added, “Some of them haven’t come back. The Madame sent out her men to find someone to replace them.”

Cis felt the muscles in her back tense at the information, hands beginning to form slow curls into fists before she stopped them. “I see.” She pushed the words past the taste of bile in the back of her mouth, keeping her tone professional. “And what of the Dead Eels, Hatters or Overseers?”

The woman shook her head, short hair swaying with the motion. “Haven’t seen many of the Eels since the plague started to spread. Some of the others have heard word that river traffic is being closely monitored for smugglers and gangs, that members of Parliament have suggested letting the Navy comb the Wrenhaven for suspects.”

“The ships are too large.” Cis allowed herself a minor shrug, surprised when her companion shot an actual smile at her. It made her look a little less tired, eyes less dull.

“Not if they release the gunships. Small ones. If a whaling trawler can come as far as Draper’s Ward then the Navy can get their spies out on the water.” Another scoff, this one less vitriolic. “How long they’d last though is another question. Lizzie Stride don’t take kindly to people staking out her waters. That, and I’ve heard that an Admiral was discharged – Havelock, I think.”

Tilting her head, Cis watched the shorter woman shrug.

“All I know is that he was let go and left a loud bang as he did. Apparently the Lord Regent doesn’t like him. As for the Hatters, they’re keeping quiet when they aren’t stirring up shit with Bottle Street. Both keep quiet if the Abbey’s doing patrols, but so far as I or Dahlia knows they haven’t left Holger Square much.”

“Unless it’s to visit?” Cis prompted, amusement coloring her voice for the briefest of moments.

“That’s it.” Her companion replied, another twinge of humor overtaking her expression. She was standing almost at ease now, arms still around herself and one hand pressing against the elixir she’d been given. “For supposed holy men, there’s still some among them who like a warm body’s company. Campbell aside.” She added, distaste evident.

Cis nodded. Activating Dark Vision took only a moment, and another to sweep the area around them for any sort of threat. Further up the street, the City Watch patrolled in twos, escorting a dead collector as he made his rounds.

“Keep yourself safe.” Blinking away lingering traces of sepia and yellow, Cis extracted two coins of ten from the pouch she’d collected earlier and handed them to the brunette. “Unless the Madame’s changed her habits, she’ll be making her own rounds in the dormitories. You’ll catch trouble if she finds you out of bed.”

The money seemed to surprise the young woman, her slim fingers curling slowly around the recently minted depiction of Barrow’s face on metal. Brown eyes darted between the coin in her hand and Cis’ mask, doubt clouding her face.

“That’s all you wanted of me? Nothing extra for the elixir?” She spoke with suspicion coloring her voice now, even as her hand tightened on the money.

It could buy another vial of elixir, if she picked her vendor carefully. Or a filling meal, if she chanced bribing someone.

Or she could stash it away, the Cat was full of places to hide tokens and trinkets and Cis knew that if she managed to slip a little coin from what was given to the Madame the young woman in front of her might even be able to get enough to smuggled herself out – if there was someone willing to take her.

Dahlia had once made such a plan, Cis remembered. Her chest clenched a little at the thought, even as she gestured dismissively. “Get yourself inside before you’re ill. And,” she paused, for once unsure, debating with herself before slowly continuing, “If she’s there… tell Dahlia I’ll bring rosemary for Amberley’s birthday.”

The young woman nodded, slipping the coin into her stocking before bidding a hushed farewell and hurrying back to the door she’d exited earlier.

Cis tracked her progress from the roof, out of sight of the guard meant to be keeping watch on the stairs above. Once the brunette was safely inside she blinked away, picking the quickest path back to base.

Where she’d get the rosemary remained to be discovered, but it was easier thinking of roses.


End file.
